Picture it if you can ~ But I will never forget

A picture is worth a thousand words. We have heard it a thousand times. A picture is "worth" a thousand words yet we rarely record those worthwhile words that accompany the picture. As time goes by, I am realizing my memories fade just as easily with the aid of a picture as they do without; thus, I am left with a box full of cute pictures or the mental snapshot my mind took with no complete recollection of the event they are documenting.

There are those handfuls of memories, however, that give the impression they will be around forever. So important and treasured by me, embedded deep in my mind with such clarity, they could have happened yesterday—branded forever in my consciousness such that I can never forget.

For Instance…

I will never forget the pure and tender faith of a child. It was the summer of 2007, Grandma’s cat just had baby kittens, five weeks old, and we were “considering” the idea of bringing one home as the new Ruger family pet. This was a pretty big miracle in itself, the fact that I was even toying with the notion of owning a cat—me being the self-proclaimed “anti-cat” person I was. It didn’t take long that evening for my boys to pick one out of the litter—one with the mark of a wishbone pronounced on his back—one that was the “cutest and smartest” and become immediately attached to it. The next day proved not as exciting as we helplessly watched, one by one, the little kitties started shivering, heaving and soon thereafter, dying. Distemper forced its way through in a crashing wave showing no mercy to the once lively balls of fur. We pulled little wishbone aside, trying to keep him away from the others, while I pulled Riley aside trying to prepare him for what seemed inevitable. “Riley,” I said, “you need to recognize that we have watched every other kitty get sick and die and you should prepare yourself for the same with your sweet Wish.” I had watched Riley that day as he held and cared for one of God’s creatures, not yet big enough to care for itself. I watched as he disappeared into a bedroom throughout the day, privately praying for something I felt might ultimately leave him completely devastated. I had also watched that evening as his little Wish started shivering; I read online the mortality rate of kittens under eight weeks of age with distemper was 100%. My heart broke for him.

I will never forget his response to my motherly concern. He scanned my face with his big brown eyes, confusion written all over his. “I’m sorry mom.” He replied with the confidence of a warrior. “But I have asked Heavenly Father to not let Wishbone die, and he won’t. I know it.” Needless to say we have wishbone to this day, healthy, strong and a constant reminder to me of my stripling’s unwavering faith.

I will never forget my Connor loves me. I was having a bad day. I have them from time to time. I can’t say what this particular bad day was about, it was months ago and ultimately, like most, didn’t matter. Nevertheless, there I was on the phone in tears with Chet, too wrapped up in myself to recognize the little ears in the room with me, too wrapped up in myself to notice them until they were there, right in front of me. Connor’s eyes were fixed on me and filled with a smile. “What are you smiling at?” I asked jokingly, a little uncomfortable with his expression.

I will never forget his answer. “I just love you.” He expressed—so out of place, so odd, so puzzling and yet so perfect. It didn’t come at a time where he wanted something from me, or thought he was in trouble. It was out of the blue and genuine and completely convincing. They were the exact words I needed to hear and he was the perfect messenger.

I will never forget how scary a wild turkey appears when it is running full speed towards you. Thanksgiving morning 1996, Dad, Chet, Weston and I got up bright and early to get a run in down the Snake River in Dad’s drift boat. It was a beautiful November Morning, peaceful and still. Leaves had completely fallen off the tree’s, leaving the naked branches reaching out for anything they might get their limbs on. The fish did not appear to be celebrating the day as we Americans do—with a feast, at least not the feast we were providing. Near the end of our tranquil drift, Dad caught site of a few large wild turkeys on shore. “How fitting,” I thought, as I watched them from afar. The boys in the boat had a different perception. “What better way to end an unprofitable morning fishing than by capturing a wild turkey for dinner” was their consensus.

I will never forget watching three of the most important men in my life, running through the trees, dodging branches and scaling logs, chasing the full grown birds. Maybe it was because I am a girl and not exactly privy to the brainwork behind their male tactics, but it seemed to me that all they were doing was simply chasing wild turkeys. So I followed suit, leaping from one spot to the next. The furthest thing from my mind was that the boys believed I should grab hold of one, until the opportunity to do so, in their eyes, presented itself. I stood their motionless, watching as the giant bird rushed towards me at an uncomfortable speed. “Grab it! Grab it!” was being yelled at me from multiple locations, but I froze, unable to move, lucky to breathe. “Were they insane?” “Had they forgotten I was unarmed?” To this day they won’t let me live it down—how I let their Thanksgiving prize slip through my fingers.

I will never forget the realization of knowing I was 100% completely head over heals in love. It was the night after our wedding, August 18, 1996. There had been moments throughout our dating, leading up to our nuptials, that resembled being in love. But it was in our little white Ford Ranger, tattooed with “just married” and hearts, on our way to a friend’s cabin where our honeymoon would begin, that the affirmation was undeniable. It was a clear night, the moon and stars lit up the night sky, interrupted briefly yet steadily by the thick shadowy trees lining the bending mountain road.

I will never forget that moment as my head lay on my new hubby’s lap while he drove. He gently brushed his fingers through my hair and sang to me in Marshallese Elvis’ “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.” I laid there, looking at the flickering sky, absorbing the sweetest harmony I had ever heard, and I knew. At that moment, I knew.

I will never forget the time my testimony was made sure. The time I was swaddled in my Heavenly Father’s forgiving arms and comforted in his embrace; the moment I put my fists down and forgot my guarded self just long enough for Him to ease in and for me to allow myself to become a child of God; the moment I realized the worth of my soul is great in the sight of God; the moment I learned my Savior not only suffered the pains of our sins, but suffered our pains and heartaches as well. He knows us, He understands us and He feels compassion for us.

I will never again forget the significance of His love. In the words of Nephi, “He hath filled me with His love, even unto the consuming of my flesh.” I am a child of God.

And in the end…

I will never forget that a picture is worth a thousand words, and so are my memories. So I will give them the thousand words because they are deserving of that and so much more. To me they are priceless.